


When Did Your Heart Go Missing?

by IntergalacticPansexual



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Banter, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, We Die Like Men, jaskier deserves an apology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntergalacticPansexual/pseuds/IntergalacticPansexual
Summary: 'If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!'They were venom filled words because at the time he had no other outlet for his rage and pain. Who better to blame then the hapless bard, whose only real crime was befriending a witcher. With an ache in his chest that only got worse with every passing day, Ciri mentions that perhaps destiny wasn't done with him just yet.Or, 5 times Geralt could have/almost apologized and the 1 time he actually did.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 42
Kudos: 436





	When Did Your Heart Go Missing?

**Author's Note:**

> First off, please excuse any inaccuracies. I kinda pulled from the book/games/show to write this but this is meant to be a continuation of the Netflix series.
> 
> This is the longest fic I've ever written and I've never done smut before so please be gentle with me...If smut isn't your thing that's okay too! You can stop at THE END: EXTRA for a smut free experience BUT if you don't mind well, keep reading on brother. (And, yes. I took the title from a Rooney song.)
> 
> \----
> 
> 2/26/20 made a few edits cause I'm obsessive about this kind of stuff. No major changes just made a few parts less awkward writing-wise.

With the princess safely by his side Geralt thought he'd finally be at peace. Countless sleepless nights he had suffered because destiny deemed it so. Because his destiny was tied to a little girl in the woods. And yet, even after finding her, his mind did not rest.

Sure, he was relieved to have found the child; elated even, if pressed. But, it had been at least a week since destiny had brought Princess Cirilla into his life and the empty pit in his stomach was filled. Sleep came easier, yes, but his dreams were haunting and there was still an aching feeling in his chest so when the sun rose on another day he didn’t feel anymore rested then he did before. Cirilla had ever so kindly pointed out that maybe his heart was missing something or... _someone_ ; that perhaps destiny had yet another person for Geralt to search for.

Geralt scoffed at the thought. Who did he need? And, who on this continent needed him?

\---- 1. THE FOOL ----

"Geralt, who is that man?" Ciri stood behind him, clutching his armor as she stares up at the netting that currently held up the man in question.

"A fool." He grunts.

"Ha ha, very funny, Geralt. Now please, can you get me down?"

A sword swing and painful crash to the ground later and the bard was back on his dainty feet. If he was avoiding eye contact Geralt made no comment.

It’s been months since that day with the dragon...since Yennefer. Geralt can admit he let his anger get the better of him; he said things that perhaps he didn’t truly mean. But, it was better this way, wasn’t it? If not for what he said then wouldn’t the bard have left his company eventually anyways? Grown bored of their travels? Or, seen Geralt for what he really was? Just another monster that hunted other monsters.

Dusting himself off, the bard peers around Geralt and sights the princess. "Oh my, how very rude of me; I've not introduced myself. I’m Jaskier and who might you be my fine lady."

He holds her hand and does an exaggerated bow. Geralt rolls his eyes as Ciri giggles and does her own curtsy. She looks back up at Geralt and he nods in return, a silent agreement that, in this case, she didn't have to lie about who she really was.

“My name is Cirilla but I’m going by Fiona for the time being.” She leans forward a bit as if telling a secret even though there was no one else on the dirt path but them. “You can call me Ciri though.” She whispers.

Jaskier, for all his dramatics, didn’t seem phased by the secrecy and takes it in stride with a grin. “Ciri it is then. Maybe I should have a nickname too, hmm?” He hums in thought for only a moment before standing a little straighter to announce, “I know! How about Dandelion? Can a nickname be longer than your actual name? Are there rules for these things? What do you think, lady Ciri?”

Geralt raises a brow but Ciri seems delighted. “It’s lovely!”

“It’s something alright.” Geralt grouses, which only earns him a jab from a small elbow and a frown from his charge.

"How did you end up caught in a tree Dandelion?" She asks curiously as she turns back to him.

"Oh, it was silly really; nothing worth singing about my dear." He answers with a self deprecating chuckle. "I was only looking for a bit of shade when I happened upon this tree, I have no experience in these things so I only noticed the trap when it was too late I'm afraid."

"Lucky we happened upon you before whoever set it up came back." Ciri gasps.

Jaskier takes a quick glance up at Geralt. "Lucky indeed."

"I noticed your lute over there, you're a bard are you not?" She inquires.

At this, Jaskier brightens, "Why yes! The greatest bard on this continent if I do say so myself. Would you like me to sing you a song?"

“Don’t get him started Ciri. You’ll never get him to stop once he gets going.” Geralt states gruffly. Looking over at her, he frowns when he notices she’s stopped smiling.

"Grandmother didn't like poetry very much; said she'd rather be the story then sit in a castle listening to one." She says quietly.

"She sounds delightful. Maybe I should write a song for her?"

"I don’t doubt it’d be a lovely song sir but it’d be a wasted effort I’m afraid." She pauses and drops her gaze to the dirt path instead. "My grandmother was Queen Calanthe."

"Queen..." Jaskier’s eyes widen and he stares at Geralt with a new understanding; he _had_ been present when Geralt received the Child of Surprise after all. "Oh my, you're Pavetta's child. But of course the likeness is remarkable....” He hesitates for only a second before surprising them both by dropping down to one knee to hold her much smaller hands in his own.

“Such a loss...I heard about the siege. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve gone through or even find the right words to express my deepest sympathies.” He gives her a sad smile but continues, “What I can say is, the continent will never again see a love as pure as the one your mother and father held for one another. And, your grandmother, she was as fierce as the lion on her shield." Jaskier lets go of her hand to gently knock Cirilla’s chin up. “I can see that same fierceness in you Princess Cirilla.”

Ciri’s smile returns to her face so Jaskier leans close and in a mock whisper finishes with, "But, I do apologize in advance my lady for the sour company you must keep."

Geralt clenches his fists, but Ciri is grinning and she grabs the witcher’s sleeve as she says, “Geralt’s not so bad. He’s kept me safe and he can be really funny sometimes!”

Geralt quirks a brow, trying to remember a time he tried to be “funny”. He doesn’t get very far on that stream of thought before Jaskier snorts and quickly covers his mouth to poorly stifle a laugh.

“Sorry my lady, I’m just pretty sure you’re the first to ever say that. Honestly, his horse, Roach has better hum-”

"Jaskier." Geralt growls in warning.

Quickly popping up with his hands up; a crooked grin in place, Jaskier laughs. "I know, I know. I'll be on my way. Thank you for saving me... _again_. I'll try harder to keep out of your way." Geralt opens his mouth to speak but no words escape him, so he can only watch in silence as Jaskier hops back over to the web of rope they’d left sprawled around the tree they’d found him in. He picks up the case with his precious lute, holding it tight, and waves their way in farewell.

"I'll be off now; do take care lady Ciri; till we meet again." And with that he was gone, no backward glances or even a farewell to his reluctant savior. He deserved that he supposed; if the ache in his chest only grew, well no one needed to know.

"I like him. Was he your friend?"

Geralt grits his teeth and, realizing he’d never put his sword away, grips the hilt harder.

"Like I said...he's a fool."

\---- 2. THE ALLY ----

"You have a lovely singing voice, Dandelion." Ciri tells him loudly so she may be heard over the boisterous noise of the tavern.

It was no place for a child but Geralt needed some respite after the past few days he's had. It was just his luck that the only tavern for miles was Jaskier’s current haunt.

The bard was smiling so brightly that Geralt had to turn away, hunched over his ale as Jaskier laughed with his young charge.

"Why, thank you Ciri! You honor me with such high praise."

Ciri giggles and Geralt can't help but envy how easy it was for Jaskier to have gained her favor; as he did with most people. Well, that is until he gave them a reason to hate him or want him dead. Cirilla was a cautious child and yet the bard had managed to worm his way past her defenses, though to be fair Jaskier didn't have a threatening bone in his body so Geralt couldn't really blame her.

Ever since that first encounter in the woods she had asked continuously about him in the month that followed. He had been all grunts and stoic silences but by the Gods she somehow managed to pry out of him that Jaskier used to be his traveling companion. When she inquired about what made them part ways well...Geralt figured he'd said enough.

"Will you be staying in Vergen long?" Geralt hears Jaskier ask.

"No, just resting then we move further north towards the Blue Mountains."

"I'll be heading that way myself, as soon as I've scrounged enough coin that is. Hoping to make it to Ard Carraigh."

"Oh! Why don’t you join us?" Ciri exclaims without a second thought; hands clasped together as if in prayer.

"Join you?" Jaskier laughs nervously and although Geralt's back was to them he could practically feel the stares he was throwing his way.

Before Geralt could just get up and leave to avoid the discussion altogether his sleeve was tugged.

Geralt clenches his fist. He was no match for his young charge and he knew he was defeated as soon as he turned in his seat to stare down at her.

It seemed their travels had made her bolder because she no longer flinched at his stare. Instead she looked up at him with her own large, watery blue eyes.

"Geralt, can Dandelion come with us, _please_?" She juts out her lower lip and Geralt feels one of his eyes twitch.

"Lady Cirillia, I'm sure he doesn't-"

"Fine." He grunts as he abruptly stands. He locks eyes with Jaskier and for a split second he feels like maybe this time he can get the right words out. But a cacophony of laughter erupts at the table next to them and Geralt turns away. "We leave before sunrise. Let's go Ciri, you need rest." He drops a few coins on the table and makes for the door.

Ciri stands and turns back to a gaping Jaskier with a smile on her elfish face.

"Geralt hates company I know, but you're friends so it's okay, right?"

"Oh dear, don't let him catch you calling me that. He'd probably wring my neck if he thought I was filling your head with such nonsense."

Ciri frowns, her brows wrinkled in confusion. "You traveled together for some time though..."

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck "Well yes, ah...maybe allies then?"

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Ciri. We're going." Geralt's deep voice came from the doorway; cutting through their conversation.

"Coming!" She bounds over to him and before leaving through the door she gives Jaskier one last wave, "We'll see you in the early morning Dandelion, don't forget!"

Later that night, after Geralt had acquired them a room in the towns only inn, Roach fed and safe in the stables, and Ciri was tucked into bed by her brooding caretaker, she tugs his sleeve once more.

"I can't wait to travel with Dandelion. He makes me laugh and his songs are lovely."

Geralt grunts but doesn't reply so Ciri continues.

"It'll be good to have more allies with us, right?" She stares up at the ceiling; her small hands wringing out her blanket. "Danger always seems right at our heels.” She drops her gaze to fix Geralt with a hopeful look. “I’ll feel safer knowing Dandelion will be there when you go out for hunts or when you have to leave to fight another monster…”

Geralt sighs and though he has a million reasons why taking the bard with them could do more harm than good he stills his tongue. Odds were, Jaskier also had a room somewhere in the inn and it was taking everything Geralt had not to go looking for him, to find him and tell him things he just couldn’t voice right now. The infernal ache in his chest had returned and he decides he might have drank too much.

“Trustworthy allies are hard to come by.” He relents, pausing to blow out the candle on the nightstand. “I wouldn’t trust you with anyone else but him.”

\---- 3. THE DANDELION ----

Weeks passed and Geralt felt like things had returned to normal, well as normal as it could get for a witcher. It was like it was before that fated dragon hunt, even with the added company of the young princess.

And yet…the ache still lingered in Geralt's chest. They no longer avoided each other's gaze and their banter was back at full force…and _yet_. They still hadn’t talked about that regretful day and maybe a few years ago Geralt would have been fine with that but if the sad smile Jaskier sometimes threw his way was any indication, all was not forgotten or forgiven.

What was a witcher to do? Geralt wasn't accustomed to much social interaction and even less so with apologies. It's been months, couldn't they just forget about it? Couldn't the ache, that he could now admit was part guilt, just fade the way old wounds faded to scars.

With a shake of his head Geralt tugs Roach's reins a little rougher than was strictly necessary, earning him a nip to his shoulder for the offense.

"Sorry girl, just lost in thought." He mutters as he gives her nose a quick soothing rub. She snorts in response and he amuses himself with the thought that if Jaskier was only a horse then maybe saying sorry wouldn't be so difficult.

He leads Roach through the thick bush, the further he went the more he could pick up the soft melodic tones of someone singing and the occasional giggle.

Doing one final perimeter check, Geralt pushes through the last of the low hanging branches and arrives at a small clearing.

At the center, a fire was burning steadily and Jaskier was in the middle of a song he was playing for Ciri. He sang with exaggerated expressions; enhancing his tall tale with dramatic sways of his lute.

Ciri was laughing and clapping in time with his song and Geralt felt a sudden warmth over take him. It overshadowed the usual pain in his chest so he allowed it for the time being; basking, if only for a moment, in the scene before him.

Roach snorts and bounces her head up and down, as if she too would like to dance around the fire.

Geralt shakes his head, “They’re a bad influence on you.” He ties her up to one of the surrounding trees; making sure there’s plenty of soft grass near its base for her to graze on.

He removes the small deer he had caught for supper from Roach's back and heads over to the fire. Last time he'd brought back a fresh kill to clean by the fire, Ciri had gotten nauseous and refused to eat for the rest of the day. Then to top it off, Jaskier had also made it a point to send him disapproving looks that whole day as well. Needless to say, since then he's made sure to skin, dress and quarter their meals away from camp.

Jaskier had his back to him so it was Ciri that noticed him first.

“Geralt! You’re back!”

Jaskier whips around, lute in hand. “Ah, Geralt!" He flashes him a toothy grin. “See Ciri? I told you our knight in not so shining black armor would return in no time. Honestly Geralt, couldn’t you have taken a quick dip in the river to wash all that gore and muck off?”

“No time. I had to be quick lest your squawking invite some unwanted guests to camp.” He fires back, hiding the way his lips twitched up when the bard spluttered in indignation.

The thing is, he really did enjoy the bard's singing. His voice was soothing, and when he wasn’t spinning exaggerated tales or spouting lewd poetry for a few laughs, Geralt could admit Jaskier had a beautiful voice.

They go on like this for the remainder of their supper. Ciri’s laughter punctuates almost every jab they throw at each other until finally she can’t hold herself back and a tired yawn escapes her.

Jaskier’s quick to jump to his feet and readies her for bed; ushering the reluctant princess into her tent after he helps wash her face and hands with their left over drinking water. Her tent wasn’t much but it was enough to shelter her from the elements while the bard and witcher preferred their bed rolls under the stars.

With a sigh, Jaskier flops back down near the fire, he’s quiet as he stares into the flames as they flick up into the night air. It went like this most every night and Geralt hated it.

During the day, with Ciri awake, they acted as they once did. Jaskier cracked jokes, laughed, and sung until he had properly annoyed the witcher. And Geralt, continued much like before as well, silent and ever vigilant. Usually choosing to observe or simply listen then to partake in the conversations Ciri and Jaskier held.

Geralt thought that would have been enough; that eventually he wouldn’t even remember that day by the cave in the mountainside. But night always came, Ciri put to bed, and it was just the two of them. The act they played during the day no longer necessary and Geralt felt the weight of everything that was being left unsaid stack up higher and higher. He knew Jaskier felt it too if the way his shoulders, normally held up straight, slumped forward.

“We’ll stop by the next village and rest for a few days.” He surprises himself by saying.

Jaskier sits up and looks past the fire to eye the witcher suspiciously. “A few days? Who are you and what have you done with Geralt?”

“Funny but I’m not joking. We’ve been on the road for weeks and I’m sure we’d all appreciate a good bath.”

“Now, I definitely know you’ve been possessed by a demon.” He laughs. “Here let me check your temperature.” Jaskier scoots closer around the fire and reaches up to touch his forehead but Geralt catches his wrist in a loose grip.

“I’m serious, Dandelion.” Jaskier freezes and Geralt just about bites his tongue clean off at the slip.

Ciri had stuck to the nickname Jaskier had given himself on a whim the day he first met her. Geralt had refused to use it, deciding it was too personal; a nickname that could lead to other more intimate names his treacherous mind so generously supplied.

And yet...the color that blossomed on the bards cheeks and the way his lips quirked into a brilliant smile had Geralt reconsidering his stance.

“I...I can tell you’re tired. And Ciri too.” Geralt adds quickly, cursing himself for his uncharacteristic fumbling. “A few days with a proper roof over our heads would do us all some good.” He reasons; trying to keep the sudden desperation out of his voice.

Jaskier hums thoughtfully, eyeing the wrist Geralt still held in his grasp. “Are you worried about me witcher?” He teases lightly.

At this, Geralt releases the bard, huffing and turning back to the fire. “You complain about sleeping on the dirt floor so often I’m surprised you haven’t composed a song about it yet. Maybe this will get you to shut up about it for once.” It wasn’t what he really wanted to say but it was the first thing he could think of. He tries a frown to really sell it but a quick glance over to the bard shows that he won’t be so easily fooled.

“I always knew you were a big softie on the inside.” Jaskier says with a playful smirk; cheeks still dusted a soft pink.

And, Geralt decides he prefers that over the sad smiles he’d been getting up to this point. He prefers it a lot.

“Shut up, Dandelion.”

\---- 4. THE FIEND ----

It's been about 3 months since they started traveling together again. And, though the bard was initially only going to remain in their company until they neared Ard Carraigh, no one commented when, together, they continued north towards Kaer Morhen instead.

Granted, Geralt probably would have reached the keep weeks ago had he been on his own. But humans needed rest more frequently then he did. And, though they traveled with a child, often times it was the bards' insistence that they stop by every village that slowed them down even more.

Jaskier would recite his latest songs to the drunkards at the local tavern and Geralt would go off in search of any monsters the villagers were troubled by. It did bring in good coin so Geralt wasn’t particularly put off, not when it kept their bellies full.

When on the road, Ciri would hold on to the bard’s hand as he waxed poetic about previous adventures they’ve had. They were practically attached to the hip nowadays and Geralt couldn’t say he was faring any better. Often, as it’s happened more times then he has fingers to count, he finds himself carrying Ciri on his shoulders when she tires. Most recently, he even started teaching her how to properly ride Roach.

Considering the circumstances, it was all very domestic. So, really it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Geralt, or Jaskier for that matter, for what came next.

They had made camp for the evening deep within the woods, seeking shelter in the most dense spot they could find where the trees would lessen the bite of the cold. Winter was fast approaching and it was only getting chillier the farther north they traveled; the hope was to get to Kaer Morhen before the first snow.

Ciri was bundled up by the fire and Geralt had just thrown a blanket over Roach, to protect her from the worst of the chill. Jaskier plucked his lute listlessly, fingers too cold to play with any real intent.

A strong gust of wind whips past them and Ciri curls into herself ever tighter; an action that does not go unnoticed by her older guardians.

“I’m going to collect some more wood for the fire.” Jaskier states suddenly; getting up and depositing his own blanket over Ciri’s shoulders.

“Don’t stray too far, Dandelion.” Geralt grumbles as he takes Jaskier’s place by Ciri, blocking as much of the wind chill as he can.

“I’m just getting a bit of wood Geralt; I promise I’ll yell if I see anything.” He jokes. Geralt grunts in response and watches him go until he disappears through the trees.

They sit in comfortable silence for awhile, the wind whistling through the trees and shaking their branches. It wasn’t until the fire had eaten through the bigger logs that Geralt glances back to the tree line.

“Jaskier.” He calls out, his deep voice carrying in the open space around them; loud enough that if Jaskier was near he would have heard. Only silence answers him.

Geralt grits his teeth, why was he worrying? Knowing Jaskier, the fool had probably gotten distracted while picking up wood. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was just out there leaning on a random tree; singing about the moonlight. _He was fine._

Ciri pushes the blankets away from her face and looks up at him. “He should have come back by now, right?”

And, with that Geralt was up; he picks up his sword not bothering to sheath it on his back. The wind was picking up and he didn’t like that he couldn’t hear anything past the first line of swaying trees. “Stay here Cirilla. If I don’t return by the time the fire dies, get on Roach and ride out of these woods as fast as you can. Do you understand?”

“Can’t I come with-”

“Do. You. Understand?” Geralt stresses.

Ciri looks about ready to argue but something must have shown on his face, maybe some hint of the desperation he was feeling, because she pauses and only nods. “I understand.”

Geralt, rushes through the trees, his sharp golden eyes easily picking up Jaskier’s sloppy trail. It was obvious he had been picking up a few sticks here and there but then his footprints veer off a little further away from camp. He follows Jaskier’s path to a felled tree, an odd site considering how far away they were from any village and even stranger because it was in fact the only downed tree that Geralt could see in the vicinity.

He draws closer to the felled tree and notices it was still pretty fresh. It’s branches strong with lush greenery and leaves scattered around it from the impact of the fall. The worrying part of all this was that the stump that once held it up wasn’t cleanly sawed through. Really, it didn’t look sawed down at all, more like someone or _something_ had blasted right through it’s middle.

The witcher rounds the trunk and a few paces past it there’s a mess of footprints on the ground. One set clearly belonging to the bard and another more obvious set on top of those, deep gouges of clawed paw prints and hooves that had ripped through the same path the bard had headed.

Geralt was sprinting now, he didn’t spot any blood but that didn’t make his heart beat any slower. Whatever it was, it was huge and Geralt didn’t have time to sit around and investigate further. He needed to find Jaskier now, the ache in his chest spreading and chilling his veins with dread.

It was a testament to how loud the wind was that it isn't until Geralt clears the last of the tangled bushes and barrels into a large open field, that he hears the beast.

There across the field, in its center, stands a hulking mass of muscle, fur and sharp bones that Geralt recognizes even with it’s back turned to him. Not counting its gnarled antlers, it stands easily three times larger than any man. It was a fiend, and though not normally found this far north, Geralt figures it’s just his usual luck at play here.

He curses himself for only bringing along his sword. Fiends were infuriatingly resilient; not only were they incredibly strong but their wounds healed in a matter of seconds. If Geralt went in swinging he’d only make the beast angry. Or angrier, if the way it was huffing and pawing at the ground was any indication.

Geralt drops to a crouch and eases his way around the perimeter and that’s when he spots the bard at the opposite end of the field.

Jaskier had pushed himself against a large tree, back rubbing against the bark as he inhaled and exhaled frantically; fingers gripping the tree behind himself in fear. His clothes were torn in places and one of his arms was missing a sleeve completely, claw marks slashed near his shoulder where the fiend had most likely tried to swipe at him. A blow that, if it’d hit him full on, Geralt knows could have killed him instantly.

His movements must have caught his attention because Jaskier’s eyes snap in his direction, mouth opening before Geralt can motion to stop him.

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier whispers, his voice cracking and breaking the silence.

The fiend slams its front paws down and opens it’s large maw, sharp, glistening canines flashing in the moonlight as it roars in anger. It drops it’s large skull low and adjusts it’s stance for a charge.

Foregoing stealth, Geralt cuts through the field. Fiends, for all their strength, speed and endurance, had yet another weapon that was even deadlier. As if their brute strength alone couldn’t kill a man, they had a third eye and with it they could paralyze their prey with a form of hypnosis. He didn’t know what gave them that power, be it magic or just some sick design by nature, all he knew was that he only had a few seconds to act.

“Jaskier, look away! Don’t look it in the eyes!” He shouts, but the bard was no longer listening to him. His eyes wide and blank as his face falls slack; frozen to his spot in front of the tree.

With a final huff the fiend kicks off and charges, Geralt only a few paces behind but not close enough to swing his sword and deter it in any way. _I’m not going to make it in time!_ His mind screams; his heart lurching into his throat.

Geralt feels more then hears a rough, desperate growl escape his own throat as he gives it everything he has, leaping forward, pushing himself further and higher with a quick and well aimed Aard behind himself. He throws back his other arm to hurl his sword as hard as he can at the fiend; his aim strong and true.

His sword hits the creature’s back; sinking in near it’s right shoulder and _still_ the beast stands. The blades of grass surrounding the fiend is hit with splashes of blood but the beast barrels through them, undeterred by its injury.

Geralt hits the ground and can only watch in horror as the beast bears down on Jaskier. He’s too far away he thinks. He’s too late. _Too late_ and so many things left unsaid. Words he still regretted and had yet to apologize for. All his greatest fears coming true at this very moment.

In a last ditch effort, Geralt scrabbles at the ground urging himself up when a sudden and powerful gust of wind knocks him back down. It’s so powerful in fact that he can’t for the life of him get back up, the force of it holding him down; the trees creaking and bowing with its intensity. Distantly he can hear the beast roar, but his focus turns to the distinctive noise of thundering hoofbeats that come barreling through the thick bush.

It’s a sight to behold as Roach crashes through the field. Wild as Geralt has ever seen her, mane all over the place as she swings her head back. Eyes open wide; nostrils flaring as she brays aggressively and there on her back just as ferocious and unyielding is little Ciri.

The pressure lifts and Geralt quickly turns his head back to Jaskier and the fiend. The bard was sprawled at the base of the tree; uninjured as far as he could tell but out cold. As for the fiend, what had only held him down had apparently pushed the creature off course; deep gouges in the earth where it had tried in vain to right itself. With a vicious shake it kicks at the dirt, moving once more towards the bard as blood trails down it’s back and right arm from the slowly healing wound on its shoulder, Geralt’s sword having dislodged in the tumble.

It only makes it a few steps when Ciri jumps off of Roach with surprising agility and releases a scream so loud that Geralt is sure he can hear his ear drums pop. The fiend convulses and shrieks in pain and fear; snapping its jaws vaguely in Ciri’s direction as if it could ward off the ear piercing noise.

Geralt slams his hands over his ears and can only watch as the beast stumbles back; moving further and further away as Ciri pushes steadily forward, unwavering; her hair floating around her small face and her eyes glazed over white.

Finally, the beast relents and bounds away, tail tucked between its legs. Loud noises are a fiends worst enemy and the impressive shrieking from the princess was more than enough to send it on its way.

The air around them settles and Ciri staggers as she seemingly comes back to herself. Geralt rushes to her side and moves to help her stand but she shakes her head and continues towards the bard that still lays motionless on the other side of the field.

“Is papa okay?” She breathes quietly.

Geralt blinks, “Papa?”

"I meant Dandelion...sorry." She says quickly. "I don't know why I said that." She flushes and frowns but Geralt knows the truth. The last few months had only brought the two closer and Jaskier absolutely adored her, easily filling the role of a doting father.

Geralt let's Ciri lean on him and when they're near Jaskier she grips his sleeve in trepidation. "He's okay, right?"

The witcher nods, picking up his discarded blade and sheathing it before crouching down to inspect the unconscious bard. “He’s going to be okay.”

The wound on his shoulder needed to be dealt with but other than that, miraculously, he was fine. “The hypnosis is what has him knocked out; he’ll wake once we have him back in camp.” Geralt stands back up and whistles for Roach. She had hid herself once Ciri had started screaming but comes trotting out of the trees, never straying too far even in the midst of danger.

“He could have died.” Ciri states, her eyes getting glassy as she watches Geralt carefully lift Jaskier onto Roach’s back.

“Hm.” He grunts, turning to her to take her hand, just like Jaskier would have done, and leads her and Roach back through the forest. “...He could have, yes, but that didn’t happen today. He has you to thank for that.” He says simply.

In the moment, Geralt had seen no other outcome, he had seen death and it had fully intended on taking Jaskier away from him. But, here they were now, safe and whole and Geralt knew better than to question that.

"Are you not going to ask about what I did back there?" Ciri asks, eyes downcast, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

"I've seen that sort of power before, long ago." He says distantly. "It seems you've inherited your mother's gift."

Ciri looks up at him and moves her hand to tug at his sleeve, a habit Geralt hadn’t the heart to make her let go. Wordlessly, Geralt bends down and lifts Ciri over his shoulders; her legs wrapping tightly around his back, arms curled around his neck and face pressed near the back of his neck.

“I was scared, father. I was scared that I was going to lose you both too.” Her voice is muffled but Geralt hears her loud and clear; his heart stutters in his chest and he grips Roach’s reins even tighter. He shouldn't be surprised but he can't help but feel unworthy of the title. _Father,_ was that what he was now? Was that what _they_ were now?

He eyes the bard, who has yet to stir; his breath coming out evenly and the jagged cuts on his shoulder have ceased spilling any more blood. Geralt, without thinking, reaches over and brushes back a few locks of hair that had fallen over his closed eyes. He stills his hand afterwards, staring at his fingers and wondering to himself, _how did it ever come to this?_ Never in all his years did he think he’d be here now with these two people by his side. Never did he think he’d _care_ so much.

They returned to their camp and Geralt eases Jaskier off of Roach and lays him down on his bedroll. He throws some kindling into the fire, they’d picked up a few twigs on their way back, to bring the flames back to life and then settles by Jaskier’s side.

“Ciri, was there anymore water left?” Ciri nods and hurries into her tent, returning not a moment later with their waterskin.

Propping the bard’s head up, Geralt eases the lip of the skin to his mouth and slowly gives him a few drops. The results are immediate, as if he’d been given an elixir instead of just plain water, because he hadn’t yet swallowed when Jaskier’s eyes flutter open.

“Dandelion, you’re okay!” Ciri cries, lurching forward and hugging him tightly. Jaskier blinks hurriedly, arms lifting to hold Ciri close, clearly not even fully aware of himself yet. “You scared us, papa.” She mutters.

Geralt, would normally deny such a claim but the reality was that he _had_ been frightened and Jaskier didn’t seem to be processing her words too clearly at the moment, so he let it slide.

“What happened?” Jaskier asks with a groan, sitting up with Ciri’s and Geralt’s help; looking around in confusion. He rubs Ciri’s back and she pulls away enough to fix him with an impressive frown.

“From now on papa, father or myself go with you everywhere.” She scolds. Geralt has to lift a hand to cover his lower face, laughter threatening to bubble up his throat.

Ciri goes on like that for a few minutes, Jaskier looking absolutely chastised the whole time, and when she deems he’s had enough she gives him one final squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re alright.” She sniffs and finally moves to stand. “I’m going to go brush Roach, I gave her quite a scare out there so she deserves a bit of attention.” She leaves them by the fire; Jaskier's hands still held up mid-hug.

Face flushed and eyes blown wide in bewilderment, Jaskier turns to look Geralt dead in the eye. “ _Father? Papa?_ What in the name of Cintra did I miss?”

And, maybe it was all that had happened in the past hour, maybe it was almost seeing Jaskier gored by a fiend, maybe the cold was finally getting to his head. Or, perhaps it was the sudden elation Geralt was feeling knowing they were safe. That _Jaskier_ was safe.

Whatever the reason, Geralt let out a short burst of laughter. He knew it was very out of character for him but he’d just never felt so relieved and so he indulged in it, let his laughter carry and shake him.

"Gods, you've finally snapped, haven't you Geralt?" Jaskier asks with what Geralt can tell is genuine concern. He huffs and his laughter dies down, a small smile the only evidence of his continued amusement.

“I’ll tell you all about it later, Dandelion. I think you’ll find this story worthy of a song.” He goes about cleaning and wrapping Jaskier's wound, ignoring the questioning looks he's given.

"I don't particularly like the stories where my life is in perilous danger, but I suppose I could make a few...embellishments."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"The more outrageous the tale the more coin in our pockets, you know this Geralt." Jaskier looks mournfully at his ruined clothes, "And, we'll certainly need more to replace these torn rags. I can't be seen like this!" He says, waving his arms to express his point.

"Yes, yes. We'll get you nice and pretty again in no time, now stop your insistent wiggling and let me get this bandage on already." Geralt says, too busy with the bard's arm to notice he'd just called a man pretty.

Jaskier's eyes shine with obvious delight. "Fine, I'll behave... _father._ " He teases.

Geralt, thanks years of Witcher training and his own general stoicism, Jaskier’s words not his, that his face doesn't immediately burst into flame. Instead, he snatches the waterskin up and, without thinking twice, overturns the remainder of its contents onto the unprepared bard's head.

He would have to rewrap Jaskier's arm later but the resulting spluttering and indignant squawking makes it all worth it.

\---- 5. THE DISCOVERY ----

They reached Kaer Morhen not long after that and it’s with the fall of the first snow that Ciri’s training began.

It had been difficult for Ciri to adjust at first, it was different when it was just Geralt but when you added an additional four sets of amber eyes that watched your every move, it could get disconcerting. But, it didn’t take long for the others to grow fond of the princess and Cirilla in turn found herself relaxing in her new environment day by day.

That was about two weeks ago, now Geralt stood overlooking the courtyard where Coën was instructing Ciri on how to properly hold a sword.

“How is she doing?” Jaskier asks, strutting down the hallway towards him.

It took some convincing, but Geralt had somehow managed to get the other witchers to allow the bard to stay at the keep with them. No easy feat considering the others were very familiar with one of Jaskier’s more popular songs _‘Toss A Coin To Your Witcher_ ’.

 _‘It’s catchy; a hit all over the continent, you know?’_ The bard had defended.

Geralt shook his head and peered over his shoulder as Jaskier moved to stand beside him, looking below to see for himself how Ciri was faring.

“She handles her sword well, for a novice. She’ll start training on _The Trail_ in the coming weeks.”

Jaskier hums and winces when he sees Ciri fail to parry one of Coën’s strikes, earning herself a stinging thwack on her thigh. Lucky for Ciri that they were only using wooden swords for the time being. And Coën, though intimidating in appearance, was gentle when need be, by witcher standards of course.

“I was thinking, perhaps I could take Ciri out of Kaer Morhen for a little while, for a break of sorts.”

Scowling, Geralt turns sharply toward Jaskier. “Absolutely not. Ciri needs to keep up with her training, and she’s safer here then she would be anywhere else.”

“It’ll only be for a day, a couple hours at m-”

“ _Until_ she can defend herself,” Geralt cuts in, “Ciri, will remain on Kaer Morhen grounds. This isn’t up for debate.” He finishes harshly.

“But-”

“ _No._ ”

Jaskier frowns and stands up straighter. “ _Fine._ ” Throwing one final glance down at the courtyard below, the bard turns and leaves without another word.

Geralt watches him go and sighs; rubbing a hand over his face. His words had come out all wrong but it was no less true and so he fools himself into thinking that at least that would be the end of it.

It was not in fact, the end of it.

The following day, Geralt was in his room, cleaning his sword when Vesemir stopped by his open door.

“Oh Geralt, I thought Ciri was with you?” He questions with mild confusion.

“What?” Geralt jolts up in alarm. “She was studying with you today, wasn’t she?” He asks urgently, dropping his sword on his bedding.

“Well, that was the plan; I waited in the library for her this morning but she never showed.” He grouses.

Cursing under his breath Geralt pushes past the older witcher and makes his way to the ground floor. Vesemir calls out to him but he pays him no mind, thoughts racing as he tries to think of where Cirilla could have gone off to. On his way to the main hall, he passes the balcony he and Jaskier had been standing at the day before as they watched Ciri’s training.

He pauses abruptly and growls in realization, slamming his hands on the railing before quickly heading down to the stables. His theory only further confirmed when he sees that Roach is missing from her stall.

He spots Eskel near the rear of the stables, brushing out his horse and sharing an apple.

“Eskel.” He calls, “Who took Roach out?”

Tilting his head in confusion, Eskel says between bites, “I saw your bard head out with the princess just after sunrise. Didn’t think much of it, not much snow on the path out today so I figured they went out for a stroll. Should I be worried?”

“It’s not you that should be worrying right now.” Geralt mutters darkly. “You think Lambert will mind if I borrow his horse?” Already moving towards the horse and readying her.

Eskel laughs, “I don’t care either way. Lambert on the other hand, well, you know how he feels about you.”

Mounting up, Geralt grunts and rides out of the stables. He isn’t even a mile out when he spots their trail heading towards the nearby river. He follows the path through the valley and tries to rein in his rage as he goes.

It’s been almost a year since their encounter with the golden dragon, almost a year since Geralt had last sent Jaskier away in anger and he’s been trying to bury that memory ever since. Almost a year that Geralt has been drowning in guilt but he’d hoped they were _better_ now.

They’ve argued since that time of course, Jaskier could still be insufferable and Geralt could admit, at times, he could come off as indifferent or cold. So, annoying each other was inevitable, if not a pretty regular thing. But real anger? That’s something Geralt’s managed to avoid until now, the ache in his chest serving as a constant reminder of the power his words could hold.

He reaches the bank, spotting Roach graze nearby and as he dismounts she lifts her head; flicks her tail and goes back to eating.

“Hey Roach, where’d that idiot go off to?” She snorts in reply and right on cue, Geralt hears Ciri’s laughter a little further down the river.

He follows the bank to where the river bends and all his hard earned patience snaps when he sees Ciri ankle deep in the water and Jaskier, of all things, napping near the water’s edge.

It was one thing to go against his wishes but then to blatantly ignore his warning of possible danger? Jaskier should know better than anyone, the fresh scars on his arm proof of what could have been at the claws of the fiend.

“Jaskier.” He snaps, loud enough that Jaskier startles out of his light dozing with a yelp. Ciri, for her credit, looks immediately abashed. Which is more than he can say for the bard who stumbles to his feet, a look on his face that Geralt can only read as resolute stubbornness.

He ignores the bard for the moment to turn to his charge, who’s meekly stepping out of the frigid water and slipping back into her shoes. “Vesemir waited on you this morning, Cirilla.” He states.

“I’m sorry father.” She dips her chin low, but it wasn’t her he was upset with so he motions back to where Roach waits.

“Head on back to Roach and wait for us there.” Geralt says calmly.

Jaskier gives her his best reassuring smile as she passes, “Don’t be mad Geralt, missing a few hours of lessons won’t do her any harm.”

“Go on now, Ciri.” He says as if the bard hadn’t said anything at all. Cirilla, looks back at them once more before going around the sharp bend and out of sight behind a rocky outcrop.

Once they’re alone, he quickly turns to face the bard. “You’re an idiot Jaskier, what were you even thinking?” He seethes with barely contained anger.

Rolling his eyes, as if Geralt’s ever rising temper was trivial at best, Jaskier scoops up his lute he’d left propped against some driftwood, “I was only taking her out for the morning; we would have been back before her afternoon lessons. You can’t honestly be upset about this?”

There’s a ringing in Geralt’s ears now and he grits his teeth. “I specifically told you not to take her off the grounds.”

"We’re just down the path Geralt. It took you, what? A few minutes to find us? She deserves a break every now and again. She's still a child." Jaskier defends, hands balled up into tight fists at his sides.

Geralt is close enough now that when he points at the bard his finger jabs him in the chest. " _I told you_ it wasn't safe outside of the keep for a reason Jaskier. And what do you do? You go behind my back and what's worse you don't tell anyone where you're going. You realize how reckless that is?"

Jaskier slaps his hand away and backs up a step, his face flushed in anger. “I went out before dawn to check the path! I would never put Ciri in harm's way. I checked Geralt. I checked before we went out.”

“Anything could have happened Jaskier. You put her in danger the moment you left the keep!” He shouts, his blood boiling in his veins now. “What would you have done if a monster or another _fiend_ had showed up instead of me? What could you possibly do to defend Ciri? You can’t even defend yourself!” Jaskier flinches at the words and Geralt knows he's being too harsh but he can’t seem to stop himself.

"You said yourself that we probably would never cross another fiend again; that they weren't native to the area!" The bard spits back.

"That isn't the point!" Geralt snarls, shaking his head. "Sometimes, Jaskier." He growls, his frustration peaking. "Sometimes I just-"

“What!?” Jaskier snaps back, cutting him off. “What, Geralt? Nothing happened! What do you want me to say?” He’s breathing harshly now and his eyes begin to glisten. “I’m sorry I can’t protect her the same way you can. I’m sorry, for trying to give Ciri some semblance of normalcy. I’m sorry that that’s not enough for you!”

Jaskier turns on his heels and his shoulders hunch up, grip tight around the neck of his lute. A tension that Geralt's never witnessed in the bard.

“Do you want me to leave again, Geralt? Is that it?” He asks more quietly, a stark contrast to the shouting match they’d just started. It freezes Geralt on the spot, heart stuttering, mouth open; unsaid words on the tip of his tongue.

"I didn't say that." He answers urgently, feeling as if he’d just been pushed into an icy river. Suddenly, their argument and whatever point he was trying to make no longer worth the trouble. _What was he doing?_ Geralt reprimanded himself.

Jaskier, turns again violently, pain clearly written on his face and Geralt is taken aback by the tears that threaten to well in the bard's eyes.

"I can leave if that’s what you want. Don’t hold yourself back just because you think you’ll upset Ciri!" He yells, with a desperation Geralt doesn’t understand. "Tell me to leave Geralt. _Tell me_ and I'll be gone for good this time, I promise you that."

“Enough.” Geralt tries, the all too familiar ache in his chest returning at full force.

“I-I only wanted to give her a chance to rest, Geralt. She’s a child and it’s not fair of us to take it all away from her.” Voice cracking now and to the witchers horror, tears spill over to stream down his face.

“Jaskier-”

“If I’d told you, we wouldn’t have even made it out the front gates. I-It wouldn’t have mattered what I said, it wouldn’t have mattered that I promised Ciri, you would have still said _no_.” He hiccups and Geralt figures he’s let this spiral out of control long enough. “Please, just tell me to leav-”

“ _Dandelion._ ” He presses gently, and when he sees that even that isn’t going to be enough he throws caution to the wind and closes the space between them. Lifting his left hand, slowly so Jaskier could rebut him if he wanted, he wraps his fingers around the bard’s lean arm; pulling him closer so their chests almost touch. His right hand comes up just as cautiously to cup his cheek. Jaskier’s breath catches and he blinks rapidly in a futile attempt to stop his tears.

In all the time they've traveled together he has never seen Jaskier cry, not when facing monsters or all the times he faced certain death when traveling by his side, never. The ache in Geralt's chest grows to a stabbing pain now because this was _his_ own fault; once again his cruel, thoughtless words had hurt the only person he considered a friend.

"No...I don't want you to go." He manages.

"W-What?" Jaskier breathes, watery, blue eyes darting frantically over his face for any sign that he might be jesting.

"And, that has nothing to do with Ciri." His anger subsided, Gerlat feels only shame for not listening to the brunet before. As a boy, the trials to become a witcher were grueling and he can’t say he would have done it of his own volition had he had the choice. “I might have...overreacted. I was being unreasonable and I should have listened. ” It wasn’t exactly an apology but it was the best he could do right then and there. He wasn't the poet after all, but he hoped it was enough for now.

With his thumb he brushes away the bard's tears, “I don’t want you to go.” He repeats before dropping both of his hands and stepping back to give Jaskier his space.

He half expects Jaskier to start rambling again but instead he just stands there unmoving; his eyes wide with what could only be bewilderment. "Oh." Is all he gets before he stops, at a loss for words, face flushed, so he sniffles instead and wipes at his face.

“I'll accompany you next time." Geralt continues just to fill the silence. Jaskier gives him a strange look and Geralt's confidence falters a little. “That is...I mean if you want me there. The others are quite fond of Ciri now I suppose, so you could try asking them as well...” He trails off awkwardly.

The silence that follows is almost suffocating and Geralt fears that maybe it wasn’t enough. That perhaps he should man up and apologize. But after a beat, Jaskier nods and smiles up at him, a small one, but a smile nonetheless. And Geralt, to his great embarrassment, feels his face heat up but the added relief more than makes up for it.

Jaskier makes another attempt to wipe at the now drying tear tracks on his cheeks and Geralt instinctively reaches for a small cut of cloth he keeps in his jerkin. He only kept it in case he ever needed to mop up any stray blood from getting in his eyes and, with a cursory glance, thankfully it was still clean.

“Here.” He holds it out for the younger man to take.

Jaskier accepts the cloth, their fingers brushing lightly when they both pull back. “Thank you…”

Geralt gives a short nod and turns away before he can embarrass himself further. “Let’s head on back, Ciri is waiting for us.” He grumbles, already walking away.

The bard trails after him, lighter footsteps almost in sync with his own. “Oh yes, she’s probably worried sick. It was her two fathers’ first fight after all.” He says with a laugh.

Geralt nearly stumbles and if he wasn’t blushing before he certainly was now.

They make their way back to the horses and when their arms brush against each other Geralt peers down to find the bard looking back, a curious look in his eyes.

“What?” Geralt asks, suspiciously. Jaskier only hums, as if in sudden understanding but says nothing, choosing instead to pluck mindlessly at his lute.

His face still hot, they round the bend and catch Ciri whispering quietly to Roach while petting her neck soothingly. She notices them right away and Jaskier bounds over with a flourish, his excitement reassuring enough that she doesn’t even ask what had kept them. Geralt was just content in knowing Jaskier was back to his usual, dramatic, self.

“Good news Ciri! Your father says we can keep coming out here whenever you want a break.” He tells her happily; helping her mount up.

“ _With me._ You can’t come out here on your own; that goes for both of you.” He corrects, going for serious but clearly failing when they both just smile at him. Even Roach, the traitor, snorts and flicks her head in apparent amusement.

 _‘I always knew you were a big softie on the inside.’_ He remembers Jaskier telling him months ago.

Geralt shakes his head, taking the reins of his borrowed horse and leading her to them so they were walking side by side.

Jaskier nudges him playfully, a touch that in the past would have earned him a hard shove to the ground but now Geralt accepts the contact wholeheartedly. More willing than ever to have Jaskier in his space. To take as much as Jaskier was willing to give because he was beginning to realize he couldn't risk losing him again. “You’re always welcome to join us you big oaf.”

The Witcher’s heart beat picks up and he thanks the stars that the bard’s very human ears couldn’t pick up the sound.

Soft snow starts to drift down and Ciri giggles in delight. Jaskier starts up a simple tune, his fingers dancing over his lute; his eyes no longer red but instead they glitter with his usual cheer and mischief.

A few delicate flakes land in Jaskier’s dark hair; some catching on his lashes so he has to blink them away and it’s in this moment that things click into place for Geralt.

The ache he’s felt for so long now, the indescribable fear of losing him, the warmth in his very being when the bard looked his way, the pain, the longing, the _guilt._ Suddenly, everything makes sense and his hands shake ever so slightly with the discovery.

He groans inwardly and has to look away for the rest of the trip back lest his face give him away.

He had fallen and he had fallen hard.

He was so fucked.

\---- +1. THE APOLOGY ----

When they get back to the keep and Geralt makes sure Ciri returns to her lessons, he heads back to his room with the bard in tow. Jaskier talks the whole way, not bothered in the slightest that the other wasn't really paying attention.

They near Jaskier’s room, Geralt’s own just a few doors down, and before the bard can move to open it, _and before Geralt could change his mind_ , the witcher calls to him.

"Dandelion." He winces when his voice loudly echoes down the empty corridor but Jaskier, unperturbed, pauses mid-sentence and turns to regard him anyways.

“Is something wrong?” Jaskier asks, concern laced through his words when Geralt takes too long to speak.

"No. I...well, I just wanted to say..." He huffs in irritation, his thoughts a jumbled mess and his words not faring any better. He opts to just come out with it, figuring the quicker he did the better. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier, if possible, looks even more concerned than before. His brow scrunched up and his mouth set in a small frown. “It’s fine Geralt, really. Things may have gotten out of hand out there but I promise we’re fine. No hard feelings.”

“No, not that. Well, yes that too but I’m not talking about earlier.” He fumbles and the bard seems to tire of standing outside his room because he reaches for the door handle and ushers the older man in.

“Well, what for then? This isn’t like you at all darling, you sure you're alright?” The endearment nearly breaks Geralt and he can't help but wonder if the bard knows what he does to him.

Shaking his head he continues, "I'm talking about before, all those months ago...what I said to send you away."

His own words still haunted him, the reason for the near constant ache in his chest. _'If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!'_

They were venom filled words because at the time he had no other outlet for his rage and pain. His heart had been torn in two and who better to blame then the hapless bard, whose only real crime was befriending a witcher.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier."

Blue eyes blown wide, Jaksier remains quiet, his mouth partially open as if he couldn't figure out what to say in response. A fair reaction, considering that this was the first real time Geralt had apologized for anything in his life.

Geralt runs his hand through his silvery locks and clears his throat; it's enough to bring Jaksier back from wherever he'd gone because the next second he replies, "But Geralt, I forgave you months ago."

The admission should come as a huge relief, a weight lifted off his shoulders, but Geralt only quirks a brow in disbelief, "It didn't sound that way by the river." He points out.

"Well, I was properly upset, wasn’t I? And, you can’t blame me for thinking you didn’t want me around anymore. Most people don’t." He finishes with a sad smile and _no_ , Geralt decides. _I don’t ever want to see that look on his face again._

"Then, I’m apologizing anyways." And just like earlier, he takes a tentative step closer; slowly so Jaskier could move away if he so wished. "I’m sorry about what I said almost a year ago, for what I said yesterday, today, or _any day_ I may have hurt you without realizing. I never wanted you to leave, not then and definitely not now.”

Geralt lifts one of his hands, palm up, and reaches out. A silent request and one Jaskier accepts without question, eyes wide and a flush creeping up his neck to his face. Curling his fingers around the bard’s hand, Geralt pulls him closer still.

“I'm sorry it's taken me this long to tell you. I'd make it up to you if I could." His other hand now rests at the crook of the smaller man’s neck; his thumb rubbing slow circles under his jaw. "I'll do everything I can to try though. That is...if you allow me of course."

“But, what about, Yennefer?” Jaskier asks, his tone cautious and his gaze shifting to the floor.

Letting his head drop so their foreheads touched, Geralt sighs. "I fucked it all up Jaskier. Whatever me and Yen had was destroyed the moment I made that idiotic wish with the djinn. As if forcing our destinies together could have ever ended in anything but heartbreak.” Jaskier squeezes his hand gently and Geralt pauses, aware that this was the most he’d ever spoken in a single day.

Pulling his head back slightly, he taps Jaskier’s jaw gently to get him to look up again and when he’s sure he’s got the bard’s full attention he continues. “I am sorry, Dandelion.” He huffs and shrugs. “I’m afraid that's about as good an apology as I can give though. You're the one with pretty words, not me." He murmurs self consciously.

At this, Jaskier laughs; grins up at him and lifts his arms to wrap around Geralt’s neck and shoulders. “Well, those were lovely words in my opinion. Loveliest I've ever heard."

Jaskier peers up at him through his lashes and Geralt feels that his heart might burst at any minute.

"I forgive you Geralt. I really do. Now please, can you kiss me already? You're killing me darlin-" Geralt closes the gap, both his hands dropping to hold the bard around his slender waist.

Their lips meet for the first time and Geralt can't remember tasting anything as sweet. It's everything he hadn't realized he'd wanted and a small voice in the back of his mind whispers, _who was he to take something so perfect?_ But, a quick nip at his bottom lip from the smaller man is all he needs to push those thoughts back.

Geralt is filled with relief, joy and pleasure all simultaneously. It’s such an overwhelming sensation that he gets the distinct feeling that he would cry if that was something he was capable of doing.

Jaskier takes a hold of his head in both hands, pulling him down so he can pepper soft kisses on his face.

“I thought I didn’t need anyone.” Geralt whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse as Jaskier moves to kiss his left brow. “And that no one should ever need me.”

Jaskier hums and places one last kiss on the corner of his mouth. He stares up at him, blue eyes locking with amber; a smile on his red kissed lips. “And yet...here we are.”

And Geralt thinks, _yes_. His heart _had_ been missing something and he didn’t need to look any further.

\--- THE END: EXTRA ---

It amazed the witcher that just that morning he had gotten so close to losing Jaskier again. And, not even at the hands of some killer monster or furious lord that the bard always seemed to attract. It was his own foolishness that almost cost him everything and yet...he was forgiven. His chest felt lighter than it’s ever been, the ache gone and in its place he only felt an all encompassing warmth.

Geralt would have been happy just kissing Jaskier til the sun went down and he was planning on doing just that. But, one minute they’re standing near the door and then, before he even realizes, he’s sat on the bed with a very eager bard in his lap. Tender kisses quickly turning into something much more heated and desperate.

They go on like this for some time, open mouth kisses with the occasional roll of the hips that has their breaths catching in their throats. He’s lived long enough that he knows where their actions are heading but all the same he hesitates to take control. His hands alternating between tugging the bard closer or holding Jaskier steady to slow his movements.

“Is this okay?” Geralt asks between kisses. He’s not even sure what he’s asking permission for, just that this wasn’t where he thought he’d end up when the day first started and he wasn’t keen on messing this up, whatever _this_ was.

Jaskier drags the kiss out and when he seemingly has his fill he breaks off with a wet pop. “This is more than okay.” He moves Geralt’s hands, which were hovering above his waist, and slides them down till he’s palming Jaskier’s ass. “You can have me Geralt. _All of me_. I give myself willingly.” He whispers against his lips with a particularly well aimed roll of his hips.

Geralt groans and gathers the smaller man closer as he flops back onto the bed and flips them over. The slide of their bodies’ so perfect that when he slots himself between the bard’s legs, it’s like he was always meant to be there.

Jaskier mouths over his jaw, neck and really anywhere he can reach as Geralt makes quick work of their clothes. When he’s managed to wrestle free of his own garb and he’s slipped off the bard’s trousers, leaving him in only his underclothes, he slows. He lets his body settle over Jaskier’s, an arm on either side of his head so he doesn’t crush the smaller man.

“I was serious about making it up to you, Dandelion.” He kisses his way down the bard’s body, pausing every so often to mark his skin with small bites before slowing to a stop between his open thighs. His fingers grip the fabric around Jaskier’s hips but he makes no move to tug the material down, instead he peers up at the now flushed, panting poet. “Will you let me?”

Pupils blown wide, Jaskier nods frantically but Geralt only shakes his head in reply. “I need to hear it.” Geralt wanted nothing more than to just rip the offending clothing off and have his way with the bard but this wasn’t about him right now. Geralt had a lot to make up for and he was going to do this right no matter how incessant his blood was pumping in a certain direction.

“Yes.” Jaskier rasps. “Yes _please_ , Geralt.” He begs so beautifully that Geralt has to press his face into the bard’s inner thigh to compose himself a bit, cataloging the moment away for future exploration.

Humming, he uses his nose to slowly draw a path along the inseam of his underpants and when he’s close to center he pulls back, much to Jaskier’s frustration. He opens his mouth to probably tell him off but Geralt beats him to it by quickly tugging the remaining clothes down his quivering legs.

He was breathtaking, and though he was nowhere near as built as Geralt was, he was lean and his skin was practically unmarred unlike the ugly scars that littered over his own. And, now that he was completely nude he didn’t shy away from Geralt’s obvious staring. Instead he unabashedly stretched out, hands above his head and letting his legs rumple the sheets before bending them at the knee and planting his feet. It gave Geralt an unobscured view of _everything_ Jaskier had to offer.

“Gods, you should see yourself, Dandelion.” Geralt breathes.

“I’m enjoying the view from down here myself.” Jaskier looks up at him through half lidded eyes; they dart down to Geralt’s... _considerable_ girth and he licks his bottom lip subconsciously. “Though I must admit, I’ve never taken anything quite so large before…”

Geralt frowns and leans over to claim his lips once again. “I won’t hurt you, you know that right?” He asks earnestly, splaying one large hand over the bard’s bent knee nudging it to open wider, encouraging the other leg to do the same. “I want you to enjoy this as much as possible; so you tell me to stop at any point and that’ll be it, no questions.”

A fond smile stretches over Jaskier’s face and he lifts his arms to wrap around Geralt’s shoulders, kissing him back with purpose. “I know, I trust you Geralt.” He lets his arms fall back onto the bed and raises his hips up enough to make Geralt jolt at the contact but when he doesn’t move further Jaskier continues, “I’ll tell you if I want you to stop. I promise.”

Nodding, he moves back down until his head is between the bard’s thighs. He snakes his arms underneath the smaller man to prop his hips up for better access, “I’m going to eat you out first, so hold on.” Is all the warning he gives before diving in, mouth first.

“A-Ah!” Jaskier yelps when Geralt’s tongue prods at his puckered rim, hips twitching. Geralt grips him tighter, lapping at his outer rim like his life depended on it; Jaskier moaning quietly with each pass of his tongue. When he’s suitably wet he adjusts the smaller man so his legs drape over his shoulders before breaching the tight ring to swirl his tongue as far as he can reach.

It’s at this point that Jaskier loses all coherent thought, moaning with abandon, his hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets and his legs crossing behind Geralt to get him as close as he can.

“G-Geralt! Gods….please.” Jaskier pants, back arching off the bed, his cock weeping where it rests against his stomach. And, Geralt’s harder then he’s ever been, throbbing almost painfully with every hitched breath and drawn out moan he manages to drag out of the poet.

Jaskier reaches for his flushed dick but Geralt uses one of his hands to brush it away, whining when the witcher fists the base. He grips him there, tight enough to hold back any orgasm until Geralt wanted him to.

He doubles his efforts, jaw beginning to ache as he opens his mouth wider to thrust his tongue deeper. Geralt’s making an absolute mess, spit dripping down his chin but he doesn’t let up. His unoccupied hand moves so his thumb can gently press against Jaskier’s taint.

The bard is practically sobbing now and when Geralt finally releases his cock only to give it a few tugs to match his sucking mouth and tongue, he loses it. Mouth open in a silent scream, his legs give up and fall uselessly back onto the bed, shaking as his body tenses like a bow. His cock shoots load after load onto his stomach and Geralt milks it straight out of him, thumb still stroking and pressing the area just under his balls.

He'd only done this once or twice and even if it brought his bed partners at the time immense pleasure, it really didn't do much for Geralt himself. Now though? As he curls his tongue deep within the bard; his other hand still stroking him through his first orgasm, he was already wondering how many times he could make his poet come with just his mouth alone.

When all the smaller man can do is whimper, Geralt pulls his mouth away, a string of spit connecting his lips to the bard’s quivering rim.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and moves up again, gently aligning their bodies, chest to chest, half hard cock to one painfully still solid cock and cum smearing all over. Jaskier is still heaving for breath and the older man waits patiently, kissing along his throat and rubbing his sides.

“God…” Jaskier rasps. “I’m so glad I bathed this morning.”

Geralt chuckles and brushes away sweaty locks of brown hair from his face.

“Not going to lie but I’ve imagined what sex would be like with you, numerous times, and I have to say this wasn’t it. I really need to get you to apologize more often.” He jokes, cheeks still red from the exertion.

“Fortunately for you, I’m not done yet.” Geralt lifts himself up on his arms and cocks a brow; Jaskier, if possible, flushes even brighter. The witcher motions to the drawer beside the bed, “Do you have any…?” Because he wasn’t about to do this without oil, no matter how well he ate the bard’s ass.

“Y-Yeah there should be a small vial. Let me just-” He tries to sit up and turn but Geralt pushes him down again.

“I got it. You just lay there and let me do the work.”

“You really weren’t kidding when you said you were going to make it up to me, were you?” He asks, watching as Geralt leans over him to search for the vial. When he finds the small container he sits back between the bards legs.

He wastes no time, using a generous amount of oil to coat his length and with slicked up fingers he presses into the bard. Jaskier, already relaxed and loose, takes three fingers without complaint, moaning as Geralt pushes as deep as he can reach. When the bard’s hips begin to grind down on his hand, he pulls back, making sure to curl his fingers as he goes.

“You’re trying to kill me aren’t you?” Jaskier groans. Geralt only grunts, lining up but doesn’t push in just yet. He curls over the the bard, one hand tangling itself in the other’s short hair as he claims his lips once more.

“I’m going to make you come untouched this time.” He murmurs against the musicians lips. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re coming dry. You alright with that?” He asks, because this was still all about Jaskier’s pleasure. He was willing to do the work but only if the bard wanted him to.

Jaskier turns beet red and he begins to nod but catches himself. “Yes. _Please._ ”

And, Geralt does. He slides in achingly slow because even after all that prep he knew he was larger than most. He’s had a few partners too intimidated to try so he’s careful and keeps the vial of oil close, just in case. But, to his genuine surprise, his size doesn’t seem to bother Jaskier, who's thrown his head back and moans with each inch that buries into him.

Geralt’s arms shake and he breathes out a groan when he finally bottoms out. “How are you so fucking tight?” He says through clenched teeth.

Jaskier lets out a weak laugh, torn between moaning and wanting to say something witty back. He lifts his legs and locks his ankles just above the witcher’s ass.

“You can move. I can take it.”

Geralt doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts off slow, his thrusts shallow, feeling the tight inner walls of the bard cling to his length. His vision nearly goes white when Jaskier clenches down on him and he moans into his neck.

His much larger hands wrap around Jaskier’s wrists and pin them in place and he lets out a rough growl when he feels the younger man bear down on him again.

And so, he picks up the pace. Deep, even thrusts that have Jaskier crying out each time he pushes back in. Searching for _that_ particular spot, he changes angles by taking both of the bard’s wrists in one hand and with his other he grips one of Jaskier’s thighs and pushes it forward. The new position opens him up wider and Geralt’s cock easily slides up against the little magic spot he was looking for.

Tears begin to well at the corner of the poet’s eyes, his voice cracking and changing pitch with every rapid thrust.

“G-Geralt!” He cries. “I...need to...I need-!” He says between thrusts. His captured wrists fight weakly against Geralt’s hold but he only presses down harder, hips snapping against his ass.

“Go on then, come.” Geralt pushes the bard’s thigh further back, so it was almost to his chest now and slows his pace enough so that each slide of his cock hits that spot inside him. His slicked up member goes in and out one, two, three more times before he grinds down one last time, rolling his hips but keeping himself buried within.

“Ah! P-plea-God, don’t sto-op!” Jaskier manages between sobs. Geralt keeps him there, rotating his hips so his length stayed pressed against his prostate. Jaskier’s own cock is an angry red, twitching against his flat stomach, a clear fluid leaking rapidly from it’s swollen head.

“Pleeeasee. Geralt, _please!_ ” He tries again, his begging going straight to Geralt’s erection.

He pulls his hips back and leans down so he can kiss Jaskier. “Come for me, Dandelion.” He snaps his hips back and Jaskier shakes with it. His thighs quiver and fall open wide, his back arching as much as his body allows; screams swallowed down by Geralt’s mouth.

Jaskier’s dick bounces as he comes for the second time, the first spurts strong enough to hit the bard’s chin and the rest splashing against their stomachs. He comes harder then the first time and Geralt fucks him through it.

If there was anything good Geralt could take from being a witcher, it was his stamina and endurance. If he allowed it, he probably could come himself but he wanted to hold out until he was sure he had drained the bard of every last drop, until he came and nothing came out.

Panting and sweat dripping from his brow, Jaskier shudders when Geralt begins to slowly rock back and forth again.

“F-Fuuuck.” He whines but doesn’t make any move to stop him. Geralt lets go of his wrists, but he couldn’t move them even if he wanted to, still riding the high of his last orgasm to have regained any control of his limbs.

It’s tender and slow, and it takes what feels like hours for Jaskier to come again. He moans softly, head thrown back as his third orgasm goes through him in waves. Geralt kisses his throat and strokes his side, one hand shifting down to press into that spot just below his balls again, as his bard shivers and quakes.

He’s not even through his final wave before Geralt flips them over, taking Jaskier’s full weight. He bends his legs so his feet are planted on the bed, hands on Jaskier’s waist to keep him in place, then Geralt lifts his hips up and begins to fuck into him again.

“Geralt.” The younger man croaks into his chest. “I-I don’t think-Ah!...I don’t think I can anymore.” He just barely gets out, moaning when Geralt’s long cock brushes against that abused bundle of nerves once more.

“One more time, Dandelion. Just one more time.” Geralt whispers against his ear, his own voice ragged and rough. He kisses his temple and feels Jaskier nod, breath hitching in time with every thrust.

Geralt feels a coiling in his stomach and he holds the bard harder as he snaps his hips into him. He doesn’t pull back all the way, instead keeping himself buried as his cock slides in and out an inch or so.

Jaskier’s body shudders violently and he pushes back against each of Geralt’s upward strokes. His half hard cock is trapped between their bodies and it twitches with effort but only leaks heavily. The walls clutching Geralt’s length flutter, tightening and releasing in random spurts as Jaskier’s fourth and final orgasm washes over him.

“Come inside me.” Jaskier mummers, so softly that if Geralt were a regular human he would have missed it. But, he hears it, loud and clear and he comes. One final push and he buries himself so, so fucking deep. He can hear his blood roaring past his ears as he fills the smaller man, so much so he can feel and hear as some of his cum spills out. An obscene sound as it squelches out and drips down his base and balls. They groan and move in unison through the last waves of their pleasure.

And, then they sleep.

Or, at least they must have because by the time he comes to it’s dark out and Jaskier’s even breathes are brushing his chest, his head resting on his shoulder; his hair tickling Geralt’s chin.

He carefully rolls them on their sides, his softened cock slipping out followed by a small trickle of cum. He winces when he realizes they probably should have cleaned up before knocking out.

“It’s okay. We’ll clean up in the morning…” Jaskier whispers, his voice completely wrecked even after a couple hours of sleep. His blue eyes just slits from where he’s squinting up at Geralt.

“Sorry.” Is all he can really say, holding the bard close as the smaller man buries his head under his chin.

Already half asleep, his poet murmurs, “You’re forgiven. Now, go back to sleep.”

_And, he does._

\--- FIN ---

**Author's Note:**

> Lord, I hope that was okay. Kudos/Comments give me life, please let me know what you guys thought!


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